


Unexpected Company

by CedarTheBarefoot



Series: Up On the Homestead [8]
Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Anal Sex, Arguing, Cabins, Coitus Interruptus, Flirting, Harm to Animals, Homestead AU, Hypothermia, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Original Character(s), Plotty, Rimming, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-21
Updated: 2020-01-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:33:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22348015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CedarTheBarefoot/pseuds/CedarTheBarefoot
Summary: The harshest winter storm had come. The trail up the mountain was blocked with snow, too dangerous to trek. It was just gonna be Arthur and John for the coldest winter days, just like usual. They had some plans on how to pass the time. However, some unexpected company puts those plans on hold.
Relationships: John Marston/Arthur Morgan
Series: Up On the Homestead [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1260731
Comments: 5
Kudos: 126





	Unexpected Company

**Author's Note:**

> So, it’s cold. Like pile blankets on the bed kind of cold. 
> 
> This installment’s got a good amount of pesky old plot. I can’t help but put the boys in uncomfortable situations. Poor things. Don’t worry, they’ll have the Spring all to themselves.
> 
> I’ve got some fluffy plans for the future. 
> 
> For now, stay warm if it’s cold and stay cool of it’s hot!
> 
> Medical note: It’s not recommended to wrap up your ribs if they are broken. It restricts your breathing and can lead to pneumonia. This is just a period practice that is mentioned here.

The wind howled, shaking the trees outside. Snow that fell was tossed around into blinding sheets of white, and yet still building itself higher and higher. Burying the ground beneath. 

The animals were all sequestered safely and warmly in the barn. Fresh hay and warm water was set out for all of them. The path that had been dug through the previous snowfall was quickly being covered up.

It was half past 6 o’clock in the height of winter, and darkness had already fallen in the world of white. Snow slid off of the roof and landed with a dull thump beside the house. The sound was swallowed by the wind. Yellow light shone out of the windows, outlined with snow and frost.

Inside was a warm and welcome respite from the blizzard. Beau, the blue tick hound was relaxing near the fireplace, snoring softly with his head rested on his paws. The fluffy brown cat, Miss Grimshaw, or Ol Miss Grimpaws as she was more often referred to as, was curled up in a neat ball on top of the dog. Borrowing, or stealing, his warmth and pensively enjoying the wave of the flames in the fireplace. 

Peaceful. Quiet. 

Until it was not.

A tin mug, plate and bowl clattered suddenly to the floor, startling the two animals. Beau picked his head up, and Grimpaws opened her eyes. Two sets of ears perked at the disturbance, but settled momentarily.

They were accustomed to the racket the two men of the house got to frequently making.

“ _Jesus_!” John gritted out, scrabbling for purchase on the kitchen bench. His trousers and drawers were caught around his ankles, and his shirt hung off one shoulder.

Arthur, for his part, was knelt down, firmly holding his lover by the hips. And pulling him back against his merciless mouth. Licking with fervor at his lover’s hole. Working his hard cock in a loose fist downward between his legs. His own trousers and long pants were shoved down around his thighs, allowing his own dripping prick freedom to twitch up against his belly. Sweat ran down the plains of his bare chest, dusted with blond hair. 

“Oh god!” John moaned, his hands desperately swiping at the bench, bumping against the remaining dirty dishes from their supper. His shirt slid down to dangle from his elbow.

Treasuring up the hint, Arthur growled, and tugged a little harder down on John’s swollen prick. The poor thing had been teetering on the edge for quite some time now. Arthur pulled back, licking his lips, and teased at his hole with his fingers, “You wanna come off?” 

“Ah! Arthur, please,”

“Answer me, Johnny,” he drawled, feeling real pleased with himself. Preening at the cries catching in his lover’s throat as he suddenly quit stroking at his manhood. Leaving it to bob helplessly between his legs, bumping against the cupboard door. Neglected. Hard. Desperate.

“Yes, yes I wanna-ohh,” John broke off into a shiver, whimpering when Arthur suddenly took his erection back in hand, squeezing gently. His hips rolled into his grip, trying for more friction. 

Humming with pleasure, Arthur licked and sucked mercilessly at the sensitive pink skin. He reached down a rubbed at himself. Relishing the rewarding moans of delirious, unabashed pleasure. The wet sound of working their cocks in his hands. Arthur only wish he were able to do more all at once.

The two men lived a fairly secluded life up on the homestead. They got down to town for the occasional social event, supplies and selling horses and trading seeds and such. Otherwise, most of their time was spent on the homestead, just the two of them and all of the animals. It counted doubly so as the heaviest snowfall of winter had come. The trail down the mountain would be too dangerous to attempt traversing until the snow melted. 

Instead of going stir crazy, the couple kept themselves entertained with books borrowed from Graham, climbing up to shovel the snow off of the roofs of the house and barn along with other chores around the homestead. Mending their clothing, knitting, chess, snowshoeing out to the cabin to ice fish, a bit of hunting and having sex. 

Lots and lots of sex. 

John shuddered, pressing his face against his knuckles. Sweat trickled down the back of his neck as he struggled to keep still. It was difficult on account of the wet sounds Arthur’s tongue was making against his hole...and the near painful tugging at his cock. His body was caught between pressing back for more and trying to get away. Too little and too much all at once. Swallowing hard, a pitiful whine left him. “Please. Oh god, please. Arthur, Arthur don’t stop. Ohhh, don’t stop,”

“Mmmh,” Arthur hummed, stroking the both of them a little faster, feeling how John’s body tensed up. His jaw ached from all of the torture he’d been putting his lover through. But it was so very worth it to hear the rapid panting and the passionate moaning. He was close. John was so close.

But then there was a sound. Outside. A familiar sort of sound just barely heard over the screaming of the wind and snow, and all the noise John was making.

Arthur suddenly stilled, stopping his ministrations, trying to calm his heart, trying to listen.

“Shit! Oh, no, no, please! Please don’t stop!” John sobbed, trying desperately to roll his hips to get the friction back.

“No, shh, listen,” The blond hushed him, gently letting go of his cock. 

John’s spine tensed, holding his breath to silence his panting. He knew that tone, and he knew it was wise to listen. Years on the run had made that caution second nature. 

And then they both heard it. 

The faint, distressed sound of a horse whinnying, nearly lost on the screaming of the wind. 

“Fuck, one of the horses musta gotten out,” Arthur said. John groaned, burying his face in his hands to collect himself and collapsing fully against the kitchen bench. 

“M’sorry, darlin’,” Arthur apologized, smoothing a gentle hand up his back as he stood, “You okay?”

“Y-yeah, just give me a minute.”

A stray horse could get disoriented and lost in this weather, and freeze to death. Aside from losing good stock, it was a fate John would wish on no one after a particularly damaging couple of days he’d spent lost and chased by wolves in a frozen terrain. The fact that it was years and years ago now didn’t necessarily alter John’s aversion to extremely low temperatures. 

“Mister Marston!” Came a faint voice. 

The two froze. Beau picked up his head and barked, disturbing Ol’ Miss Grimpaws.

Picking his own head up, John pushed himself upright, “Was that - ?”

“Mister Morgan?” The voice called over the storm. Beau stood, unseating the cat and barked again.

“Hush, Beau. You gotta be kiddin’ me,” Arthur grunted, quickly pulling his trousers and long pants up. He grimaced at the discomfort of containing his straining erection.

John’s prick was no better off as he yanked up his own trousers, did up his flies, and shrugged back into his shirt, “What in the _hell_ is he doin’ here?” 

“Mister Marston?” 

The couple hurried into their boots, coats and hats. John quickly gave Arthur some gloves before he could open the door, “You’ll lose your damn fingers, here.”

“Thanks.” 

Beau whimpered from his spot next to the fireplace. 

“Sit. Stay, boy,” Arthur commanded, and the dog did as he was told with a soft whine and his ears perked up. Grabbing a lantern, the two men opened the door and stepped out onto the porch, squinting through the white blackness of the stormy night. There was a small, blurry orange light floating towards them. 

“Michael?! Is that you?” John called out into the wind. 

A horse nickered, and strode into their lantern’s light, climbing through the snow. It was a giant beast. Snow stuck to most of dark grey, and black spotted coat. His black socks were white in the storm. His silken, inky mane was speckled with ice. A long black blaze covered his long face. 

It was Benandonner. 

A willowy form was perched in the saddle, hat pulled low on his head with a heavy green coat and scarf covering his face. He was holding a small lantern. “S-s-sure am g-glad to s-s-see you!” exclaimed the figure, tugging the scarf down.

Sure enough, it was Michael Collings, Graham Colings’ nineteen year old son. Soft blonde hair, piercing grey eyes and skin made rosy with the cold. 

“For god’s sake, what the fuck are you doin’ here, boy?!” John called over the wind, moving forward to help the boy down from his horse. He came down easily enough, but stumbled in the snow. John caught him as Arthur took the reins of the horse, “Get him inside and warm, I’ll take care of Benandonner!” 

“Th-thank you! M’sorry!” Michael weakly called after the blond as John dragged him up the porch steps. 

“You sure as hell are going to be!” John growled, stomping off his boots and cuffing him around the ear before heading inside. The boy, unbothered, followed him in and let out a sigh of relief at the warmth of the house.

John closed the door behind them and shrugged out of his coat. “Get your boots off,” he instructed.

“Y-yes, sir,” Michael shivered, bending down.

Beau whimpered from where he was seated by the fire, tail thumping eagerly against the floor. 

“Stay, Beau. Those socks too, they’re wet,” John said gruffly, coming over to start pulling open the boy’s coat. He told himself that it was the cold that made Michael’s face seem even redder all of a sudden. “The second your teeth quit chattering, you better start talking, you damn fool. Off yer rocker, riding out in a blizzard like this!”

Michael said nothing, his teeth audibly still clacking together. John pointed at the boy’s woolen black trousers, “Get those off too, they’re wet. You’ll catch yer death.”

He was obviously blushing now. John ignored it and put another block of wood on the fire. Beau wagged his tail a little harder as John stood beside him. Glancing at Michael, he went to pull down some quilts. “Get over to this fire, and sit. Now.” 

Michael did as he was told, sitting in the chair indicated in just his shirt and drawers. John threw the blankets around and over him. “Let me see,” He murmured, kneeling down to take Michael’s freezing, red fingers in his hands. He rubbed them gently between his palms to warm them up. 

“Stupid. You could’ve gotten lost and froze to death. And we wouldn’t have found your damn corpse until spring.” 

“I re-m-membered the way here. I was f-fine.”

“You got some sort of death wish? Why’d you even come up here, Michael?” John asked, switching his ministrations to the other hand. 

“I...I wanted to s-see you.”

Groaning, John resisted pulling his hands away. He had to get feeling back into the boy’s fingers, _damned_ be the _damn_ little crush the _damn_ kid had. “Michael...we talked about this. I thought we reached an understanding.” 

“I-I know!” The boy exclaimed defensively, “I didn’t c-come here to try and…” he shook his head, “I s-swear, I ain’t here to force m-my way into your b-bed.”

Picking his gaze up from their hands, John heaved a sigh. “So, you’re telling me that you stole your father’s horse, came ridin’ up a mountain in the middle of a blizzard at night, put both your life and the horse’s life in danger, just to come visit me?”

Michael suddenly hissed in pain, drawing his hand out of John’s. It was then that he saw the bruises on his knuckles. 

“Michael?”

The young Collings pulled his hands under the blankets and murmured, “I wasn’t thinkin’. B-Benand-donner’s the best horse i-in the snow. I d-didn’t know where else I c-could go.”

Taking a deep breath, John willed himself some patience. He reminded himself that he, himself, had done some damn stupid things when he was that young. Driven by harebrained ideas, overconfidence, lack of confidence, anxiety, dissatisfaction at never being taken seriously, frustration and arousal. The confusion of trying to sort through so many damn emotions and fears that he was only just able to get a handle on. 

Some problems had seemed so big and important to him back then. Today, they would scarcely cross his mind. But he still remembered with clarity each time he’d felt stupid. 

“Michael, tell me what happened.” 

The boy sighed and then shook his head, “It...it s-sounds so foolish now,”

* * *

Needless to say, Benandonner was pleased to see his mother in the barn. Familiar with his surroundings from having grown up in them, the brute pulled away as Arthur was closing the barn door to keep the warmth in. The chickens clucked in offence at the breeze of snow and quieted down when it was cut off. The horse trotted right over to Artemis’s stall and leaned his nose into her face, nickering with affection.

Artemis nickered quietly back at him, leaning down to pick up fresh hay to share with him. Benandonner ate eagerly. 

Arthur came over, leaving the horse to his own devices as he unsaddled him. The damn beast did pretty well in the snow previously, but he’d climbed up an entire mountain of deep snow in a blizzard. It was a wonder that the two of them hadn’t fallen into a drift or into the river by accident. 

They were lucky. 

Aside from occasionally being an ornery brute, he was a damn good horse. Arthur took care to dry him off impeccably well, making sure all of the ice was brushed out of his tail and mane. He stuffed hay under the rug he laid over his back to draw out any excess moisture. Benandonner was too tired to protest being led into a stall. It was beside his mother, so he didn’t seem to care. 

Fresh hay, warm water and oats were laid out. Arthur even pulled some sugar down from the shelves to give to him. Benandonner got his palm all slimy in the process on account of his messy eating. But he’d earned it. 

Stroking the black blaze on his long face, Arthur murmured, “What in blazes was that boy thinkin’?” He had an assumption or two. But he wasn’t quite ready to believe that Michael had risked freezing to death just for even a smidge of a chance to get his dick wet. The boy was more put together than that. Something had to have happened. Something that made him leave quick. 

The man patted Benandonner’s neck, “Get some rest, boy. I’ll come check on you in the morning.” The horse snorted, turning his ears towards him. Arthur gave him one last scratch, “Hopefully John ain’t killed him yet. Wish me luck.”

There was no reaction that time except for Benandonner to dip his nose into the oat bucket. Ignoring him. Immediately comfortable with his surroundings. Chuckling, Arthur closed the stall and headed back out into the wind and snow. Placing a hand quickly onto his hat to keep it from blowing away, he trudged through what was left of the path Benandonner had trotted through. 

Just as he made it to the porch, he heard a sound pierce through the wind. Another horse. This one sounded distressed. Arthur grabbed the lantern, and went back out into the snow. “Hello?!”

* * *

John and Michael both looked towards the door. 

Beau woofed quietly, lifting his head up from where he’d laid it on Michael’s knee.

John jumped up, “Don’t you move from that fire, Michael. Stay Beau,” he instructed firmly as he threw on his coat, hat and scarf and picked up a rifle. 

Before he could open the door a call came from outside, “John! John! Gimme a hand!” It was Arthur. 

Michael winced when the door slammed shut behind John. The fearful sound of a horse shrieking rang out loud and clear. Beau whimpered and Michael nervously scratched behind his ears. And after what seemed like an eternity later, the door flew open again.

“Oh my god!” Michael exclaimed as John and Arthur appeared, hefting a large, snowy figure inside with no hat, frozen brown hair, and dark brown eyes that were barely open. “Cole!” 

Instead of moving him to the fire like the boy had expected them to, the farmhand was deposited in a chair at the table.

“I’ll go take care of his horse,” Arthur said, going back outside, shutting the door behind him.

John quickly shrugged out of his outerwear, “Michael, put some water on the stove, now.” Then he went over to examine Cole’s split lip, and the blood frozen on the side of his head. Muttering in frustration, he start pulling open the boy’s coat.

“Shouldn’t we get him by the fire?” Michael asked fearfully, untangling himself from the blankets.

“No, not yet. From the looks of things, his horse strayed from the trail and they both fell in the river. Gotta warm him up slow, or his heart could stop.” John replied methodically, pulling off Cole’s stiff, wet gloves.

Once Michael filled the coffee pot with water and placed it on the stove, he was sent off for some flannels and a blanket.

John set about divesting the sluggish young man of every stitch of his clothing. His mind focused steadfastly on the task at hand. It was strange to feel the familiar wave of calm that washed over him when it came to situations of life and death. Detaching himself from any fears or frustrations he might have in the moment or later on. Like the fact that there were suddenly two more people than usual in his house. And that they were going to likely be there a while.

If one of them didn’t die first. 

Cole’s breathing was dangerously shallow, and his heart wasn’t beating as fast as it was supposed to. He barely seemed to know where he was. 

And he wasn’t shivering. 

That was always a bad sign.

He only reacted to being undressed when John started unfastening the flies of his trousers. A small sound of distress left him and his freezing hand bumped against John’s wrist, eyes nearly closed.

“It’s okay, boy. Ain’t nothin’ untoward, just gotta get you outta these wet clothes. Michael, get some more blankets.”

It was no easy task, pulling clothes off of the muscular form and keeping him in the chair. His shirt and drawers were near frozen stiff, and John eventually had to solicit Michael’s help. The young Collings looked uncomfortable, but did everything he was told. 

He was obviously worried by the tinge of blue to Cole’s reddened skin, and the deep bruising around his ribs and thigh. He tried to be as gentle as possible in drying him off. 

Eventually, Arthur was back and the process of making out a pallet for Cole to lay down on went much quicker. Together, they laid the naked young man out, and covered him with two blankets as Michael added more wood to the fire as instructed. 

John came over with a mug of warm water, stirring it with a spoon, “Cole? You gotta drink this for me, boy.” Arthur carefully leaned him up to sip at the sugared water, gently pushing Beau’s curious nose away, “Go lay down, Beau.” 

Michael pressed his lips together firmly, watching Cole cough weakly but do little else as they poured it down his throat.

“Is he...gonna be okay?”

“I don’t know, Michael,” John answered, slipping some warm rocks he’d pulled from the fireplace beneath the blankets. “He could use a warm body,” Arthur murmured after checking his blown pupils. 

Without hesitation, Michael slid under the blankets and laid himself down against Cole’s side. “He’s shivering.” He said, voice cracking. 

John nodded, “That’s good, means his body’s startin’ to do what it’s supposed to again.” He laid another blanket over the two of them. 

“Gotta take care of that cut on his head,” Arthur said, going to dig through a chest of drawers near the window. John went to the stove for some hot water. Michael watched them worriedly, wondering how they knew all of these things. Wondering how they could be so calm while his heart was racing. Wondering what they’d been through together.

John gently cleaned the wound and all the blood off of the side Cole’s his head and face. His skull wasn’t noticeably dented which was certainly a good sign. But that didn’t mean there weren’t damage underneath. Nevertheless, he tried to reassure Michael, “Don’t worry. Head wounds bleed a lot. Usually look worse than they actually are.”

Michael swallowed and looked away when Arthur came back with a curved needle. John placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. 

Arthur steadily stitched closed the gash on the side of Cole’s head. It was quiet for a long time while he worked. The only indication that Cole felt anything was the slight twitch to his closed eyes. 

Once finished, John covered the wound with salve and linen. With care, Arthur slid a knitted hat onto Cole’s head, pulling it down over his cold ears, “Not much else we can do but keep him warm.” At that, Michael sniffed and pressed his chin worriedly against Cole’s shoulder. Then he closed his eyes, just listening to the other young man breathe.

Arthur caught his lover’s eye and quietly raised an eyebrow in curiosity. He’d been so busy trying to make sure the horses were warm, dry and safe that he hadn’t had a chance to be brought up to speed. In response John gestured over towards the kitchen, and Arthur nodded.

The two men stood and left the two younger men alone on the pallet by the fire. Arthur picked the forgotten dishes up off of the floor and John set about putting cider on the stove to heat up. 

After a long moment John leaned close and murmured, “Had themselves a fight, worse than usual. Cole tried to be sweet on him, and Michael wouldn’t hear it. Told him to leave. But he wouldn’t. So Michael punched him in the mouth.”

“Explains his split lip,” Arthur replied, 

“Guess in the moment, the boy couldn’t stand the idea of having to be stuck at the farm with him. He said he didn’t give it much thought until it was too late to turn back.” 

“So, he stole the strongest horse and came to visit his ol’ queer buddies up on top of a mountain,” Arthur smiled wryly, shaking his head. “N’Cole followed him up here.”

“Bit excessive, this whole thing,” John muttered.

“You’ve been in love,” Arthur murmured, pausing in his washing. “Awful lot to go through over someone you only knock boots with.”

John stared at his lover, resigned. He had a point.

Then Arthur heaved a sigh and rubbed at his eyes, “Cole’s horse was in rough shape, John. He weren’t ridin’ it cruelly or nothin’. But they took a bad fall. Horse could go lame with the way she was limpin’. Surprised she managed to carry him as far as she did . I’ll wait to see once her muscles warm up and she’s got feeling in her legs again. Might heal up. Might be able to ease her back into walking...but,” he trailed off, leaving the unhappy but responsible thought left unsaid. 

Arthur knew horses. He knew what they needed, and how to how to care for those needs. His very _last_ resort would be a mercy kill. He hadn’t had to do something like that in quite some time. He certainly didn’t want to do it again. 

“The boy ain’t doin’ much better,” John whispered in his ear extra careful-like so Michael wouldn’t overhear. “Hit his head, near frozen, dunno what’s goin’ on. Looks like he mighta busted a couple’a ribs, maybe his leg. Won’t know anything ‘til he comes out of it.”

“ _If_ he comes out of it,” Arthur muttered somberly. 

The two men fell to silence.

* * *

It near morning before Cole showed the slightest sign of consciousness. And it was only a small breath of a word, “Mick…”

Michael jumped awake as if it were a fanfare, still pressed against his side. Miss Grimpaws had curled up at the small of his back while he’d slept, savoring the warmth, and possibly offering comfort. At the disturbance, she lifted her head, blinked her green eyes slowly and for some reason went after licking her hind foot.

Paying little mind to the cat, Michael looked up at Cole’s profile. Their bodies were sweating between the many blankets, roaring fire and close proximity of one another. He tentatively laid a hand on his chest, feeling how his muscles were twitching, “Cole?”

“Mick…?” he murmured, his eyes cracking open just slightly before sinking closed again. His voice was hoarse and weak, but he was alive. And somewhat conscious. 

“Why’d you follow me?” Michael asked, trying to tamp down his anger. To keep quiet. To keep from bothering the actual owner’s of the house that they were trespassing upon. “You coulda died!”

“W’rried ‘bout...ya,” came the small, exhausted reply. 

Michael wanted to hit him again. He wasn’t one for fighting, but they’d somehow turned onto it together. “I knew the trail here! I knew where I was goin’, you stupid twat! Now look at you, half froze to death.”

“M’s’rry,”

“If you weren’t ill, I swear I’d punch you right in your stupid face,”

A small chuckle that turned into a short cough that turned into a wince, “Ya’lready...did.”

Michael swallowed hard, looking at the cut on Cole’s lip. Remembered how it had bled. How he’d felt satisfied and horrified at the same time. He shook his head, “You’re a damn fool. I don’t get it. Why would you go and nearly get yourself killed comin’ after me?”

“‘Cause I...love you.” Came the weak reply. 

A palpable silence followed.

And then Arthur cleared his throat from where he was pressed against Cole’s other side. “You two need a minute?” 

“N-no!” Michael exclaimed. Then he groaned, “He’s delirious. Sorry for disturbin’ you.”

* * *

The next afternoon, Arthur and John shoveled themselves a path to the barn. Again. It had been snowing for over twenty-four hours now. The wind had thankfully died down, taking away the blinding sheet of white the air had become. Snow hung from the trees, sparkling in the light. Now, it just looked kinda pretty. Or it would be if the morning weren’t feeling so grim.

Pulling open the barn door, Arthur heaved a sigh. John joined him inside, shaking his head, pulling his scarf down from his face, “Gettin’ worried that the boy’s fever ain’t gone down.” 

Arthur nodded, closing the door behind them. “Me too.”

John led the way over to the stalls, “All this snow, the trail down the mountain’s gotta be completely blocked. Ain’t no way we’d get a doctor back up here if we ever made it down in one piece.”

“We done all we can for him,” Arthur said, stroking Artemis’s sleepy face when she leaned out of her stall. 

John went about replenishing water in each stall as Arthur began distributing hay. They worked quietly for some time. The horses each sensed the tension, and nudged their noses against the men in solidarity or ignored them, turning their ears away.

Some time later, John found Arthur in a stall with Cole’s horse. Maggie was her name according to Michael. She was a large Appaloosa, big enough to carry the burly young farmhand, getting a little up there in years it seemed. Apparently she’d been Cole’s horse for some time now. 

Arthur was carefully unwrapping the leg she was putting very little weight on. 

John sighed quietly, stroking her face as Arthur gently worked the leg. Softly bending it, massaging the tender muscles. Maggie tolerated the treatment for a while, still sleepy from the long journey, and the weather. Eventually, she nickered sharply, pulling away from Arthur’s ministrations. 

Resigned, the big man wrapped the leg back up. Standing, he leaned against the stall gate. “I ain’t prepared to bury a kid and his childhood horse, John.”

“Hopefully it won’t come to that,” John said, placing his hand over his lover’s. With a low sigh, Arthur threaded his fingers through John’s, “It’s a damn mess.” They looked quietly at each other, taking in their mutual tiredness. 

Stroking his thumb over the edge of John’s palm, Arthur murmured, “We were planning to slaughter one of the chickens anyways. Think maybe some bone broth would help him?”

Glancing over at the winter coop, John nodded, “Might. I’m willing to try anything. I weren’t planning on burying anyone up here besides your old ass when you finally kick it.” 

Arthur chuckled, “We got some years yet. My knees make me think otherwise sometimes, but we do. Who knows? I might outlive _you_.” 

John smiled gently, and leaned in for a kiss. His lover happily obliged. Their joking was morbid. But they were uncomfortable, and to joke like this was familiar. Safe somehow.

* * *

John and Michael were taking their turn shoveling out the path to the barn. Arthur was adding wood to the stove fire when he heard a soft hiss of pain. When he looked over, he saw Cole trying to sit up from the pallet where he’d been lying for the past three days. 

“Best take it easy, boy,” Arthur advised.

The young farmhand sat up anyways, and quickly slumped, cupping his head with an uncomfortable moan. He gasped, immediately straightening slightly to brace one hand against his bruised up ribs. If it were that bad, Arthur figured he might have cracked a couple of them when he fell. They’d have to wrap him up soon.

Arthur spooned some of the chicken broth that they’d been keeping hot for the last day into a bowl. “I warned you.” He wandered over, stepping carefully around a curious Miss Grimpaws. Kneeling down beside the boy, Arthur reached for the water they’d been keeping nearby. 

“Mister Morgan?”

“Here. Drink this slowly.” 

Cole took the proffered tin cup with shaking hands and sipped. The collar of the shirt Arthur had volunteered for him was damp with sweat. When he finally breathed again, he murmured, “Thank you.”

“How you feelin’?”

“I-I’m alright.”

Arthur fixed him with a stern look.

“I...feel like I been drug ‘round...with my boot caught in the stirrup.” He admitted, holding a hand tenderly over his bruised ribs. 

“How’s your legs? Can you feel’em?”

Cole bit his lip and his toes moved under the blankets, “Y-yeah.”

“Anything feel broken?”

“I don’t think so. Mighta cracked a couple’uh ribs. M’just sore...and tired.”

“You haven’t eaten in a while. Think you can stomach some broth?” 

Cole nodded silently, letting Arthur carefully set the bowl on his lap with a spoon. He contemplated it for a moment before picking his head up suddenly. His weak voice sounded as frantic as it was able, “Mick? Did Mick make it here? Is he okay?”

“He’s fine. He’ll be back inside in a little while. They’re out shoveling snow.” 

The boy’s shoulders lowered visibly as he breathed a careful sigh of relief. He looked back down at the bowl, taking up the spoon.

“How much do you remember?” Arthur asked, moving to sit on the sofa where Michael had been sleeping. Or making the appearance of sleeping. Arthur suspected that he’d been sleeping on the pallet beside Cole, waiting for any sign of him coming out of his fever dreams.

“Gets kinda cloudy after I fell in the river. Maggie pulled me out. It was so cold...is she okay?” He answered, giving up with the spoon on account of his shaking hands. Exhaustion and frustration plagued his face.

“With some luck, she might walk proper again.”

Arthur hadn’t thought that Cole could look more miserable. He frowned down at the bowl in his lap as if it had done him wrong. 

“You should eat.”

The boy looked up at him, “Mister Morgan, I...I’m sorry. I...I’m intrudin’ on ya’ll’s privacy and...But I was worried, and I guess I was jeal...” he trailed off, and preoccupied himself with the bowl of broth again. This time, he forwent the spoon and held the bowl up to drink from. 

“Slow down, you’ll make yourself sick,” Arthur sighed, shaking his head. Frustrated, he said the next thing that came to mind, “I know what it’s like to do stupid shit over someone you care about. Especially when it’s another man. I dunno how you were raised, and I know what you and Michael have goin’ on ain’t exactly normal...but you gotta get your head on straight. That boy cares about you. Maybe too much. But I’m tellin’ you right now, a couple of busted ribs ain’t gonna make him forgive you.”

Cole didn’t speak. He only sipped gingerly at the broth, a sad, guilty look in his eyes. 

A few moments later, John, Michael and Beau came back inside. Beau went right for his water bowl. Arthur saw how both boys brightened when they saw each other. Michael shucked his outerwear and went carefully over to sit beside Cole.

They spoke in low voices, softly coversing, sounding a little like arguing once in a while, but otherwise civil. John preoccupied himself with getting warm by the stove. Arthur went about brewing something hot for his lover to warm him up. 

Some time later, John nudged him and nodded over to the pallet. When Arthur looked, he found the two young men in a cautious embrace, faces pressed into each others’ shoulders. Cole hissed in pain and Michael pulled away, “Shit, I’m sorry,”  
and heard the faint reply, “It’s okay. I’m okay.” 

“They’ll be alright,” Arthur murmured.

* * *

The following two weeks worth of chores were a little quicker getting done with some extra hands around. Cole swallowed his pride and learned how to darn socks and mend clothes while his body healed up. Michael got over a fear he didn’t know he’d had and climbed up to help shovel snow off the roof. Soon enough, Cole was out and about, carefully taking up more and more strenuous...activities...much to the two older men’s dismay.

Arthur rolled onto his back in his bed, tossing an arm over his eyes. He laid there for a long moment, unmoving. But then he threw his arm frustratedly down onto the blankets. After another moment, he made to sit up. 

Before he could do so, however, an arm looped over his chest and forcibly laid him back down. The big man settled back against the blankets without any fight but heaved a sigh.

“You'd think they were fuckin’ newly weds with the way they’re carryin’ on,” he muttered, the bland annoyance clear in his tone. 

A long, desperate moan came from downstairs, just barely muffled. The sound of flesh slapping against flesh was clear as day. 

“Jesus, you’d think he was killin’ him,” John grumbled, dropping his head on Arthur’s shoulder.

A low scoff sounded, “You and I were the same way when we started foolin’ around,” he smirked slyly down at his lover, “still are too.”

The brunet grumbled, “At least we had the decency to go somewhere secluded. Out of the way, so’s we wouldn’t be disturbin’ folks around us.” 

Arthur cocked an eyebrow, opening both of his eyes, “Well, first of all, our goin’ to secluded places was less so out of common decency and more so for keepin’ face because you know they woulda teased the hell out of us. Secondly, I remember quite a few places we got to foolin’ around that weren’t secluded at all. Like between the pews in that old church. The one with the blue shutters? At 9 o’clock on a Sunday morning, no less.”

“That jail cell in Aberline. While that dopey deputy was sleepin’ at his desk?” John added with a chuckle. 

“That barber’s chair while the barber was off gettin’ lunch at the saloon.” 

“At a poker table in that saloon.” 

“Thirdly, where are they supposed to go? The outhouse?”

“I’m ready to banish them to the loft in the barn when you are.”

Arthur snorted.

“What? It’s warm enough.”

A choked groan, deep and throaty ground out in the darkness. The two men daren’t glance down to chance seeing any silhouettes cast from the lit fireplace on the wall. They could guess what was going on just fine. 

“Three nights in a row, you’d think they’d be chafin’ at some point,” Arthur whispered.

John was quiet for a moment before he sighed guiltily, “Well…”

Arthur slowly reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose, “You gave’em slick, didn’t ya?”

“Michael came to me while you and Cole were taking your turns out in the barn, tending to the animals...and...I...frankly the conversation don’t need repeating.”

“Oh my god,” came a soft, muffled cry, “Cole!”

“Jesus, Mick!”

Arthur seemed to settle further into his pillow and yawned, “Oh good, we might get some sleep tonight yet.”

“This ain’t how I pictured spendin’ the winter.”

“You made it easy for’em,” Arthur ribbed. 

“I wish _we’d_ had a couple of old queers to impart wisdom upon our young, salacious asses,” John griped. After a moment, he asked quietly, “Speaking of salacious, what say you and me go up to the cabin? It’d be nice to have some fresh fish.”

“And some peace and quiet,” Arthur added.

“I wasn’t aiming on peace and quiet, but sure,” John murmured, drawing soft laughter from both of them.

That was the last of their hushed conversation. The two younger men on the main floor worked each other to exhaustion. It was another half hour before everyone was asleep.

* * *

“More, darlin’,” 

A shiver went up John’s spine. There was a mix of warmth from the fireplace and the subtle chill of the air. He just so happened to be experiencing it most on his naked arse. 

Arthur moaned suddenly, a hand snapping back to hook around the back of his thigh where his trousers were caught. Encouraged, John rolled his hips, pressing himself as deep as he could, trying for Arthur’s sweet spot. “Ohh, I missed this.”

It had been a whole two weeks. 

“Me too,” Arthur sighed, a shudder of pleasure climbing down his spine, “Mm, little harder.” John could deny his lover nothing and put a bit more force to his thrusts, easing back and forth. 

The two men were as clothed as they possibly could on account of the cold. The cabin was only a few years old, and the seams of the logs were packed well with dried mud, moss and sawdust. It was pleasantly warm, especially with the fire going. But there was also a snowstorm and the temperature had dropped. 

Arthur cried out, slamming back into his lover’s hips. “Shit!” 

Breathlessly, John leaned down for better leverage, draping himself over the bigger man. “Damn it,” Arthur grunted, burying his face in the blankets, “Darlin’, I’m,”

“I can feel it. Feel you, gettin’ all tight on me.” 

“Oh, fuck, there, like that, don’t stop!”

“I won’t,” John promised, neglecting to mention the fact that he was looking forward to coming off for more than the usual reasons. 

His ass was cold. 

“C’mon, Arthur, I wanna hear you,” he breathed into his lover’s ear. Arthur tugged at his own cock with renewed vigor, meeting each roll of John’s hips with his own. Heaving like the bellows, groaning, and finally shouting out, growing impossibly tight inside as he found his release.

John pulled out and quickly stroked himself with a tight fist, holding nothing back, moaning as he came off all over his lover’s arsecheeks. 

“Damn,” Arthur panted, wiping at the sweat that had rolled into his eye. 

Desperately holding on to any energy he had left, John got up. 

“What’re you doin’? Get back here,” Arthur chuckled, rolling onto his side. He watched John dip a flannel into the water they kept by the fire, “I’m tryin’ to clean up the mess I made of your pretty ass,” John said, coming back to the bed.

Arthur smirked as John shoved him back onto his front, “You think my ass is pretty?”

“You seen it lately?” John replied, wiping the spend off of the plump, muscled globes. When he was done he leaned down and nipped one. 

“Ow, hey,” Arthur gasped, only halfway protesting.

John finished cleaning their softening cocks off as quickly as he could. Both men struggled their trousers back up, buttoning closed the flies before settling down under the blankets. John made sure that his ass was facing the fire as he spooned up behind his lover. 

“Mm, that was fun,” Arthur hummed.

“Mhmm,” John agreed, squeezing the big man around the waist. “Think we should head back tomorrow?”

“Nah, them boys’ll be fine for another day or two. Besides, I was planning on doing more salacious things tomorrow.”

“Sounds good to me, only I’m on the bottom next time. Nearly froze my ass off tonight.”

“Hm, now that _is_ a problem,” Arthur said lowly. John recognized that tone, and he swallowed hard. “Suppose your ass’ll be nice and warm if I spank you?” 

“You’re a cruel, old man.” John muttered, burying his red face into his lover’s shoulder.

Arthur laughed sleepily, “Pretty sure I can feel your dick gettin’ all hard again just thinking about it.”

“Shut up.”

**Author's Note:**

> Comment and/or kudos!  
> Lovely to hear from you!


End file.
